


Tumblr Ask-Box Drabbles

by kaihire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, please pay attention for any potential trigger warnings, ratings vary from drabble to drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaihire/pseuds/kaihire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
        <strong><a href="http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/">notenoughgatorade</a> answered your question:</strong>
      </p>
      <p>
        <em>first time doing something extremely kinky in the bedroom</em>
      </p>
      <p>
        <em>
          <br/></em>
        <strong>tw: cutting</strong>
      </p>
    </blockquote>





	1. grid lines

> **[notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/) answered your question:**
> 
> _first time doing something extremely kinky in the bedroom_
> 
> _  
> _ **tw: cutting**

* * *

 

The lines ran up and down his forearms, a painfully exact grid, each scar laid out in nearly ideal parallel or perpendicular to the ones around it. Most were old and faded; a few were newer, still purple-red-pink, flushed. Derek kissed them, lips dry, uncertain. His hackles were up. Stiles let out his breath in a practiced, slow exhale.

He pressed the blade into Derek’s hand, felt him test the edge with his fingers. Stiles held out his right arm, the one with fewer lines; the one with newer scars.

“Do it.”


	2. ley lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[geekhermes](http://geekhermes.tumblr.com) answered your question:**
> 
> _Stiles experiencing tapping of the ley lines for the first time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **magic!Stiles**

“I’m so not sticking my hands on some voodoo rock,” Stiles said, trying to back away from the fallen slab of carved sandstone. Derek shoved him back towards it. “Dude, come on, why do I have to do this?”

“Because Deaton said you were the only one who could,” Derek replied for the eighteenth time. He had Scott on the phone because the idiot had somehow gotten himself cornered by some _thing_  and this was, according to Deaton, the key to sending it back from whence it came. “Do you want Scott to die?”

“He doesn’t want Scott to die!” Scott chimed in his ear, and Derek pulled the phone away with a grimace. Stiles looked from Derek to the phone, then down at the rock, his expression crestfallen.

“Oh, come on…” he groaned. “Look, this isn’t even going to work,” he added. “Just because Deaton gave me a baggie of fairy dust and I managed to make a barrier with it  _one time_  doesn’t mean I can—”

Derek watched Stiles’ hands come to rest on the stone, his words cut off mid-sentence. The runes looked like they were glowing a faint blue-green, and that was just… But when Derek blinked and looked back, the runes were glowing even brighter, and they were twining up Stiles’ hands and arms like ethereal vines.

“Stiles? You alright?”

Stiles’ eyes were wide open, his pupils blown. Power thrummed through his bones, through the core of him, and he had to lick his lips and clear his throat before he could speak.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m more than alright.”

It felt like coming home.


	3. a rose by any other name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[sterekrules](http://sterekrules.tumblr.com) answered your question:**
> 
> _Everyone finds out Stiles real name! And reactions!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> No trigger warnings apply.

“That cannot be his real name,” Erica said, peering over Isaac’s shoulder. The curly-haired werewolf shifted slightly away and shrugged, passing the photocopied piece of paper back to her.

“Seems like it is. It’s not  _that_  bad.”

“It’s  _absolutely_   that bad,” Boyd said. “No wonder he’s got issues.”

“Who’s got issues?” Peter asked, leaning into doorway. The younger members of the pack tensed, but Boyd was brave enough to pass the paper to him.

“Stiles. Danny found his birth certificate.”

Peter’s expression went very neutral, and then one eyebrow twitched. He handed the paper back to Boyd.

“That’s a sin.”

“You can’t tell him that I was the one who got Danny to do this,” Jackson said from his corner, expression grim. “In fact, don’t mention Danny at all. It was a stupid bet.”

“That you lost,” Erica reminded him, and Jackson shot her a dirty look. All heads turned in unison at the sound of Stiles’ Jeep pulling up in front of the house.

“Nobody say anything,” Isaac said. “He’ll just get upset.”

“Hey—! Whoa, what’s with everyone?” Stiles skidded to a halt, his hand half-way up for a wave. Five pairs of eyes turned to look at him, with moderate success at maintaining their composure, at least until Derek rounded the corner and snatched the piece of paper out of Boyd’s hand.

And burst out laughing.


	4. when in rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **onashippunintended answered your question:**
> 
> _the blast was meant to put an end to it, but when vision and hearing clears they all find themselves thrown back in time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> No trigger warnings apply.

At first it’s a mad scramble. Where are they,  _when_  are they, how can they get home? None of the lexicons had suggested anything like time travel was possible. Then came the practicalities, the logistics. Survival. Food, shelter, blending in.

Learning how to tie unnecessarily complicated sandals.

It turned out out Stiles was fairly handy with the  _pugio_ , while Derek found greater comfort holding a heavy  _spatha_. As far as brigands went, well, few were more qualified, and before two years were out Derek had procured a small but handsome villa and Stiles was all the talk of polite society.

“I hate that shape of  _tunica_  on you,” Stiles found himself complaining one day, lounging under the shade of a myrtle bush. Derek rolled his eyes skyward and stripped it off, revealing how much his body had changed: the muscle heavier and more utilitarian, his skin a deep bronze, his hair neatly trimmed to the latest fashion. He nudged the bowl of oil in Stiles’ direction and passed him the  _strigil_.

“I hate that you wear anything at all,” Stiles added with a grin, and made himself useful. “Maybe your outfit for the fancy-dress party should simply be ‘barbarian.’”


	5. how to fail a first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com) answered your question:**
> 
> _yay, fic drabble again!! are you opposed to FC on your OTP? if not, derek/erica tag teaming stiles, if so sterek 1st date_
> 
> Nope, not against FC, but getting a Derek/Erica dynamic going would require Lots Of Words from where they currently are as both individuals and because of the current strain on their pack relationship, not to mention pack dynamics issues etc etc. So for now, you get Sterek 1st date. Hope that’s ok! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> No trigger warnings apply.

They’d been slogging through the knee-deep snow for nearly two hours now. Stiles couldn’t feel his feet anymore, and he was fairly sure his nose had completely frozen and fallen off at least half a mile back. On top of everything, wet snow began to fall when they were already out in the middle of nowhere. The world around them was white, cold, wet, and utterly inhospitable.

Stiles wondered, not for the first time, whether Derek actually knew where he was going, and whether or not he was actually bringing him out here for something important. He’d certainly made it seem imperative on the phone.

“Dude, if you’re going to murder me out here, I can assure you we’re far enough out that you can safely stash my body. Seriously. Nobody will ever find me, not even once the spring thaw sets in. Just kill me now,” he begged. “Please, for the love of your fluffy bunny slippers, just kill me now.”

He was soaked to the bone, his teeth were chattering, and the idea of just curling up in the middle of the non-path they were on was becoming more and more tempting.

“We’re almost there.”

“Almost where? I think we’re almost in Manitoba at this point.”

Derek rolled his eyes. Alright, so they weren’t even in Canada, but it felt like it.

“No, seriously, almost  _where_? If I’m going to die out here, I deserve to know what’s so important.”

They rounded a bend in the trees, and Derek gestured absently at a tiny, rather picturesque hunting cabin tucked between dense evergreens and a frozen stream. He shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, just once, and then caught himself doing it.

“I thought it’d be good to get away from Beacon Hills for a while.”

“…so you thought you’d drag me out here where serial killers live?”

“So I thought I’d bring you to my family’s old summer cabin,” Derek snapped, and Stiles could see the defensive set to his features. The younger man held up his mittened hands.

“Ok, ok. Family cabin. Awesome. Great. Super. Does it have heat? When does everyone else show up?”

“Nobody else is showing up, Stiles,” Derek groused, helping him across the stream. The werewolf’s hand was steady under his own shaky, chilled grip, but it wasn’t until Derek unlocked the cabin and he saw the neatly-made bed, the freshly-washed floor and the shopping bags of provisions set out in the kitchen that he realized what all of this was.

“Dude.” He had, after all, drunkenly demanded last weekend that it was about time Derek asked him out on a date, but he’d been very, very drunk and he’d sort of hoped Derek wouldn’t take him seriously, because it was just too mortifying for words. It was a good thing that Stiles’ ears were already bright pink from the cold, because he was seriously fighting the urge to blush, and instead stumbled towards the woodpile to start the fire going in the fireplace posthaste. “Dude, I mean, I’m flattered, but next time? Let’s just order in a pizza.”


	6. 'twas the night before christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **onashippunintended answered your question:**
> 
> _i’d love to see some stuff involving puppy lahey paired with just about anyone. or some pack feels. or bromance shenanigans. happy daft boys._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> No trigger warnings. Just fluff.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Hale house, not a creature was stirring. Not even Stiles, because the bastard had finally passed out at around 4am. He’d been the most resilient one.

The whole ‘let’s keep Derek company because he’s a broken shell of a man and his whole family is dead and nobody should spend the holidays alone’ thing was enough to make Derek want to punch him in the face, but he had to admit that having everyone descend on him with food, bad DVDs, and a startling amount of alcohol hadn’t been as horrible as he was expecting. For some reason, Stiles and Scott had brought an entire box of horror movies, because apparently nobody in their little friendship circle was cheesy enough for actual Christmas movies.

Derek had fixed up one downstairs wing of the house so far, and everyone was passed out on various bits of furniture, with Scott curled dangerously close to the fire and Boyd having claimed an entire couch for himself. Allison, Lydia, and Erica had taken over the larger couch, and Stiles was dangling practically upside down in a battered old armchair.

With the house finally silent except for the crackle of the fire that he carefully kept going, Derek could sneak out into the unheated part of the house. In the old living room, its roof still gone, they had set up the most pathetic-looking dollar store Christmas tree that Derek had ever seen, its fake branches standing out at awkward angles, decorated with whatever had been available at Goodwill. It looked sadder now in the early dawn hours, its garish colors not yet visible.

While the teenagers slept off their zombie marathon, Boston Market dinner, and wine spritzers, Derek dragged the tarp off of a pile in the corner and started setting carefully-wrapped boxes under the tree.


	7. got your back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[devouringsole36](http://devouringsole36.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _a BAMF!Stiles…with tattoos and magic!_
> 
> um this is only, like, my favorite Stiles EVER. <3 I already wrote a little magical!Stiles drabble but I’m so happy to revisit this pretty much always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: Teen and Up**
> 
> magical!Stiles
> 
> hurt/comfort (but everyone's ok)
> 
> canon-typical violence (implied)

When Derek came to, everything was a haze of dimmed vision, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, the odor of iron and mud and ozone blurring his sense of smell. He groaned quietly, trying to sit up, but found himself pinned by a surprisingly strong hand.

“Nuh-uh. Not just yet, big guy. We’re not quite out of the woods yet.”

Derek blinked hard. His eyes didn’t want to clear, but when he finally got them open he could see a distinct amber glow.

“What the hell?” he growled quietly, bringing up one bloodied hand to rub at his eyes.

Stiles was kneeling over his body, his expression sharp and focused. The innocent 16-year-old boy had long since been replaced by a surprisingly capable 18-year-old man, and Derek could see in the clench of his jaw and the narrowed set of his eyes that Not Good Things were happening around them. But the runes that’d been tattooed like tribal whorls over Stiles’ arms, neck, thighs, and chest were glowing brightly, the bigger ones dimly visible even through layers of clothes, and Stiles had a shimmering barrier erected between them and the rest of the world. His sleeves were rolled up. Derek could see the glow of the tattoos pulse in time with Stiles’ heartbeat.

A bead of sweat was rolling down Stiles’ temple, but he only gritted his teeth harder, focusing on whatever it was he had to do to keep the shield up. When Derek’s hand settled over one of his, he didn’t even flinch, but when Derek brushed his thumb over a visible rune his expression softened somewhat. His eyes never left their focus point.

“We’ll be alright, the troops are on their way. I’ve got this.”


	8. nutcracker suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[girleverafter](http://girleverafter.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _Nightmare before Christmas AU, with Stiles as Jack. Or The Nutcracker AU (sorry Im in a christmas mood)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> no trigger warnings apply

“I am  _not_  putting that on.”

“Oh, come on, Derek, it’s for  _one_  night, and it’s for a good cause!”

Stiles was thrusting the bundle of clothing at him, but Derek had his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I’m not wearing  _tights_ , Stiles, no matter how good the cause is. You must be out of your mind.”

“They’re  _leggings_ , not tights,” Stiles implored, “and we’re all wearing them. And you get the extra-awesome hat, ok? And I even found a uniform top that’s going to fit those big burly shoulders of yours. Do you have any idea how difficult that was?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Stiles sighed and shoved at the werewolf’s shoulder, getting a snap and a growl in return.

“Look, it’s good PR, if nothing else, ok? And it’s for a children’s hospital. Come on, even you can’t say no to little sick kids, can you?”

Derek’s expression wavered, and Stiles knew he’d won the battle: hook, line, and sinker.

“This is a stupid idea,” Derek muttered, but he started sorting through the clothes. He set the costume down and started shrugging off his shirt. “So if I’m supposed to be the Nutcracker, who’s going to be Clara?” If he had to choose between Erica, Lydia, and Allison, he’d pick Allison, hands down. At least she wouldn’t try to grope him.

But Stiles pulled out an incredibly sparkly lime-green tutu, his grin promising nothing but pain. Derek blanched.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Dear god, no, Stiles, you’re going to  _traumatize_  those children.”

“Fuck you, Derek. Don’t you crush my dreams.”

And he started pulling the monstrous tutu on over his sweatpants.


	9. help me out here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[lasvegas-lights](http://lasvegas-lights.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
>  
> 
> _Stiles has a broken leg_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
>  
> 
> no trigger warnings apply
> 
> hurt/comfort
> 
> who knows how he broke his leg XD

“—and because the last time he broke something and they put him on narcotics he started talking to the  _potted plants_  in the hospital, now they’re saying they can only give him Tylenol. For a  _broken leg_ , dude.”

Scott’s voice was climbing in pitch with each word, and Derek rubbed a hand over his face.

“So?”

“So, it’s not enough, and we’ve been taking turns sort of, you know, taking the edge off for him, but we have to go to school and he’s going to be miserable.”

“You want me to babysit him.”

“That’s not it! Look, please, could you just… could you come take over? He’s going to be in a lot of pain otherwise.”

Derek sighed. He stared up at the ceiling, then got up with a grimace and grabbed his jacket and keys. Scott was still prattling on about something, but Derek turned the phone off and headed towards the Stilinski house. The lack of a cruiser in the driveway made this easier, but Derek had no idea when the Sheriff would get home, or how he’d take the whole ‘former wanted fugitive hanging out with his son’ thing. Derek wasn’t about to worry about it.

And that was how he ended up on Stiles’ couch with a cup of watery iced tea, one hand on Stiles’ leg to periodically draw away the pain when the boy started to wince, watching…

“What even  _is_  this?” he asked, horrified.

“ _Toxic Crusaders_ , only  _the_  best cartoon in the history of animation. Toxie is totally my favorite!”

Derek stared at Stiles like Stiles had grown another head, but the boy just stuffed another fistful of popcorn in his mouth, his cheeks rosy from the warmth of a shared blanket (he’d insisted) and his eyes sparkling as he watched the TV. Derek saw Stiles blanch a little as he resettled his leg, and quickly pulled more of the pain into himself. He heard the boy let out a stuttering exhale, and then brown eyes were locked on his.

“Hey, Derek?”

“What?”

Stiles leaned in, planting a popcorn-scented kiss on his startled lips.

“Thanks. …but I’m not putting in another DVD.”


	10. it's all ok on OkCupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[geekhermes](http://geekhermes.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _Stiles accidently sets up a network of supernatural experts_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> no trigger warnings apply

It started out fairly innocuous. Scott and Isaac were investigating claims that the local duck pond was infested with miniature mermaids and Stiles chirped in, “I know someone I can call about that!”

Turns out the ‘mermaids’ were actually just crawfish, and everyone moved on with their lives.

Then it was a suspected vampire, and once again Stiles “has a friend who knows all about those.”

This time, it was goths with dental implants who had gotten carried away. Nothing vaguely supernatural about it. Derek started getting suspicious right around the time they were investigating demonic possession and Stiles was all-too-eager to toss of an e-mail. He cornered the kid, and the truth started to pour out of him.

“No, see, nobody knows about the fact that I’m hanging out with werewolves, it’s just—”

“It’s just that you put in your OkCupid profile that you’re a werewolf expert.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh. I mean. I haven’t gotten a legit date request or anything, but I’ve been meeting all these awesome people who have experience in really specific fields of supernatural research and— No, dude, don’t open that—!”

Derek shoved Stiles out of the way, and while the flailing arms did their best to intercept, he pulled up Stiles’ profile.

His own face stared back at him. Stiles made a noise, and behind them Isaac burst out laughing.

“Now we know why he hasn’t taken any of those date requests up on their offer,” he quipped, while Derek simply glared at Stiles.

“Changing it, changing it, Jesus, less with the claws and the glowy eyes and the murderous rage, ok? I thought it would give me an edge, and besides, it’s not like it worked. Turns out your mug just brings all the nerds to the yard.” And maybe the others didn’t notice, but Derek could see the way Stiles’ ears were burning, and his heartbeat had kicked up a notch.


	11. it's not what it looks like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _Laura walks in on them when thet thought they were alone in the family cabin, and it’s all very funny/awkward_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> what am I doing with my life

“Oh god, oh god,” Stiles whimpered, toes curling against the couch cushions. His breathing was coming in stuttered gasps. “Please.. please..!”

Behind him, Derek’s bare shoulders glistened with a sheen of sweat, flushed a warmer shade by the heat of the crackling fire in the hearth. His hands were slipping on Stiles’ skin, unable to get a proper grip.

“Hang on, I just—”

“Derek, Derek  _please_ ,” Stiles whined, his breathing getting more ragged.

“Fuck, Stiles, I—”

“Oh my  _God_.  ** _What the Hell?_** ”

Laura’s voice brought Derek’s head up. Beneath him, Stiles made a faint squeaking noise and attempted to melt into the couch.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Derek started, but Laura held up her gloved hands.

“I don’t want to hear about it. Jesus, put up a sign or something. And, you know, mazel tov, but oh my God, I’m going to need therapy for  _months_.” She dropped off the pie she’d brought along and turned on her heel. “Call me when I can safely come back without being traumatized,” she called over her shoulder.

The door slammed, and Derek slumped. Stiles squirmed over beneath him.

“Do you think she’ll believe that it was just a massage?”

Derek put down the bottle of massage oil and shrugged.

“No, probably not. But roll back over. I almost had that knot ironed out.”


	12. you're not as annoying as you think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[lasvegas-lights](http://lasvegas-lights.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _got another one for you! Stiles thinks Derek only tolerates him for his researching skills - Derek proves him wrong :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> no trigger warnings apply

“—and here is the last of the stuff on hawthorn berries,” Stiles said, thrusting yet another binder into Derek’s already-loaded arms. The younger man looked distinctly grouchy. Derek had, after all, interrupted his Halo session for some extremely pressing research, and he’d been on it all night. “This is exploitation, by the way. Or forced labor. Something. I’m going to have to set up a one-man union.”

Derek grunted by way of thanks and shifted all the stuff under his arm. He was half-way to the door when Stiles let out an exasperated sigh.

“And seriously, dude, could you at least not death-glare at me when I’m doing you favors? I mean, I know you inexplicably hate my guts and all but, just, I’m trying to  _help_ , ok? I really am. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Derek frowned, and that only made Stiles squirm.

“Oh my god, yes, that, ok? Don’t go all serial-killer on me, I’m not your enemy!”

“I don’t hate you.”

“…what?”

Derek cleared his throat.

“I said, I don’t hate you. You’re the only one of your friends I actually like.”

Before Stiles could say anything to that, Derek swept out of the room, leaving Stiles gaping at his receding shoulders.


	13. define "real"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[notafuckingwaitress](http://notafuckingwaitress.tumblr.com) answered your question:**
> 
> _sterek, stiles speaks several languages, unusual ones_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> no trigger warnings apply
> 
> Stiles has some mild self-esteem issues (canon-typical)

“Whatever that’s supposed to be, I don’t speak it,” Lydia said, her disdain very clearly audible over the phone. “I only speak  _real_  languages.”

“These aren’t written in real languages? What the hell is a  _real_  language?” Derek muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Not  _that_. Look, judging by the drawings, it’s probably some sort of geeky video game reference. Why don’t you ask a geek? I don’t have time for this.”

Lydia hung up on him. Derek was starting to question his life choices when they ended in having to rely on teenagers for research. He scrolled back to the message he’d sent her on his phone and forwarded the scans to Stiles, with the message ‘ _Lydia Martin said to ask a geek about these_.’

The phone rang almost immediately.

“Who says I’m a geek?!”

Derek attempted to curb his tongue.

“So you can’t help me,” he said, starting to hang up.

“That’s not what I said! I’m just going to need some time.”

“…ten minutes is not ‘some time,’ dude,” Stiles complained without even looking up from his book. Derek swung his other leg in over the window ledge and looked around the room. Stiles had printed out dozens of pages, and they littered every conceivable surface. The room smelled faintly of microwave pizza; Derek had to suppress a grimace.

“Did you find out what that is or not?”

Stiles looked up, the cap of a highlighter caught between his lips.

“Well, duh,  _obviously_  it’s Elvish.”

“Elvish,” Derek deadpanned. “Like Christmas elves.”

“Oh my god, you have  _no_  grasp of literature, do you. You lived your little werewolf life under a rock. I can’t believe you never read Tolkien.”

Derek looked at him blankly.

“The Hobbit? Lord of the R— You know what, forget it, you’re a lost cause. Look,” he added, motioning for Derek. There wasn’t much space, so he settled on the edge of the bed next to where Stiles was sprawled belly-down, one leg twitching almost like a dog wagging its tail. “This one, this is Elvish. Sindarin, specifically. And this one over here is actually Entish, which is really cool.”

“Can you actually..?”

“Read them?” Stiles asked, glancing up. “Yeah, I’ve got them half-translated.” He gestured at the chicken scribble in his notebook. “Only a total loser would be able to do this, right?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Derek snorted lightly, then reached out to rest his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. It tensed beneath his touch, then relaxed slowly. He could hear the kid’s heartbeat accelerate.

“You’re not a loser… just a fanboy,” Derek said.

“I hate you,” Stiles muttered, but he scooched his shoulder a little more into Derek’s palm, like he was starved for praise, and Derek didn’t quite have the heart to resist. Instead, he let his thumb rub little circles over the worn t-shirt until Stiles’ heartbeat settled and he went back to scribbling down his translation.


	14. the sheriff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[it-was-she-who-ran-with-wolves](http://it-was-she-who-ran-with-wolves.tumblr.com) answered your question:**
> 
> _Sheriff POV, Caught!Sterek_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: Teen and Up**
> 
> **tw: mentions of child abuse (but no actual child abuse present)**
> 
> **tw: Stiles is 17 (but nothing sexual is happening with him and Derek)**
> 
> hurt/comfort
> 
> basically, the Sheriff is being an awesome dad, and everyone is ok

“Dad, it’s not what it looks like.”

It wasn’t that the Sheriff was surprised, per se.

…no, scratch that. He  _was_  surprised. The last he’d heard, Stiles had been stupidly, obsessively in high-school love (not something the Sheriff was willing to take too seriously) with one Lydia Martin. Stiles’ general “type” had been sassy redhead since grade school.

But, back to the fact that there wasn’t a redhead with her head on Stiles’ lap, apparently dead asleep. The Sheriff would recognize that tattoo until the day he died.

“Really? Because it looks like Derek Hale is in my son’s bed, on my son’s lap, without a shirt. Tell me that’s not what it looks like.”

Stiles turned a few interesting shades of rouge, his mouth opening and closing like a carp’s, his eyes wide. He started to talk, and the Sheriff lifted his hand.

“The  _truth_ , Stiles. Can whatever BS you were about to feed me and tell me the truth.”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his upper arm with one hand.

“Could you maybe get your hand off the gun first, dad? He’s not precisely a threat.”

The Sheriff looked down. Sure enough, his hand had been hovering over the grip of his gun, and he let it drop to his side. Instinct could be a bitch. He’d never draw on his kid, obviously—he’d rather kill himself a million times over—but even though Hale had been cleared on all charges, it was difficult to not see the skulking, mysterious man as a threat.

A threat to his  _underaged_  son.

“Can you explain to me why there’s a grown man in your bed, Stiles? A half-naked man?”

Derek made some sort of noise in his chest and, to the Sheriff’s surprise, Stiles just dragged an extra blanket over him. He felt a little better seeing that Stiles was wearing a long-sleeved thermal and flannel pajama bottoms, but there was still an ex-wanted fugitive  _on_  him. Asleep.

“He’s… he had an allergic reaction to something, and he came to me for help, and now he’s sleeping it off,” Stiles said quietly. The Sheriff didn’t miss the way his son’s hands remained on the blanket that covered Hale’s shoulders, and it mad his chest knot uncomfortably.

“There are hospitals for that. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t—”

“ _Dad_.” And he knew that tone. That tone that said Stiles was two seconds away from working himself up to a panic attack, was about to start having trouble breathing. The Sheriff held up his hands and let his son finish. “Please, just. Just trust me on this, ok? Whatever you think— Whatever you think this looks like, it’s not like that. Ok?” Stiles let out a short laugh and aw, shit, that was absolutely a tear that he brushed away quickly with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. “Even if I’d want it to be. Ok? Way out of my ball park and I’m not even 18, and if you only—” Stiles shook his head angrily. “He  _wouldn’t_ , ok? He just wouldn’t.”

Every educated brain cell in the Sheriff’s head was telling him that making excuses for sexual predators was what kids were— But no, he couldn’t go there. Stiles looked  _fine_. Scared, startled, but without any of the particular facial tells that were a dead giveaway something was wrong. The Sheriff rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Alright. Alright, Stiles. It’s. If you say it’s fine, I trust you, but—” he held up a hand when Stiles started to look relieved, “I want you and Derek Hale downstairs first thing in the morning for a talk. And this doesn’t happen again. Understood? No more secrets, Stiles. Not like this.”

He thought he saw something flicker across Stiles’ face, something like pain, but it was gone in a second, replaced by a small smile.

“Yeah, alright. And dad, thanks… thanks for not flipping out. I love you.”

Got him every time.

“Love you too, Stiles.”

At least he comforted himself by keeping the door open when he left the room. And pretended he didn’t hear the relieved exhale as Stiles let go of the breath he’d been holding.


	15. stiles gives the most useful presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[notenoughgatorade](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com) answered your post:**
> 
> _fluff? stiles giving Derek a gift for xmas_
> 
> I’m sorry that I’m so behind on these. This is me trying to play catch-up. :X <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> **tw: they joke about terrorism because they have the tact of toddlers**
> 
> trope: holidays
> 
> trope 2: mistletoe

The box looked like some sort of terrorist package, if said terrorist was the least subtle person in the universe. It was lopsided, wrapped in mismatched paper, and duct taped shut. The only way it could have been more shady would have been if it’d been leaking things, ticking, or had ‘BOMB’ written on it.

“Come on, Derek, take it, it won’t bite.” Stiles’ voice was almost a whine. He was standing just on the other side of the threshold to the Hale house because Derek was blocking the entire doorway, mostly with his glare rather than with his shoulders.

“I’m not convinced it won’t.”

Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if hard-pressed to repress his nervous energy, and Derek finally took the box with an irritated huff.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously, turning the box over in his hands. Stiles just hummed, his expression altogether too gleeful, but kept his mouth shut.

Part of the packaging had Christmas stickers on it, part of it was covered in little dreidels, and he was fairly sure the chicken-scribble handwriting near one corner said ‘happy kwanzaa.’

“I didn’t know what werewolves celebrated,” Stiles explained, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “So I, uh. Yeah.”

“Right.”

“…so are you gonna open it?” Stiles asked, rocking back on his heels, and Derek was sorely tempted to just throw him off his front porch. “Come on, do iiiiit.”

“It looks like it was wrapped by al-Qaeda.”

Stiles’ expression fell.

“We’re not all Martha Stewart, you know. Which, by the way, your house looks like it was decorated by al-Qaeda, so fuck you kindly.”

“My house was decorated by Kate Argent,” Derek shot back, his eyes flaring red, and Stiles held his hands up.

“Fine, you know what, go do your big scary werewolf thing, and your all alone for the holidays thing, and give me that back. I’m going to give it to someone who actually appreciates when someone puts in the effort, ok?” Stiles reached for the box, but Derek held it just out of his grip. “Oh, now you suddenly want it?”

“You gave it to me. It’s mine.”

“Oh my god, do you even listen to yourself? It’s like you’re five.”

Derek didn’t reply, but he started unwrapping the box, starting with a corner that had less duct tape. But when it was finally open, he stared uncomprehendingly at the object in his hands.

“It’s a wireless PS3 controller,” Stiles said, excitedly, “with protective runes all over it so if something nasty tries to attack you when you’re chillin’ in your little werewolf crib playing Halo, you can peg it at their head and bam, instant weapon, super effective.”

“…Stiles, I don’t even have electricity, much less a TV. Or game system.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles replied with a light shrug, though he was starting to look uncomfortable again. “But Scott and Isaac and I all have them and sometimes we play Halo together so I thought maybe…”

Derek leaned across the threshold and, before Stiles could react, pressed a kiss against one overheated cheek.

“Wha— Did you—”

“Mistletoe,” Derek said, because Peter had absolutely hung a bough right in the doorway. “Now go away.” And he slammed the door practically in Stiles’ face, though not before he saw the kid’s expression go from startled to mystified and, as he walked deeper into the house, he could hear a “Yessss!” from outside.


	16. tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[rachaelsmindpalace](http://rachaelsmindpalace.tumblr.com) replied to your post:**
> 
> _(If you haven’t done this already:) Something with tentacles! I don’t care who has the tentacles or how many there are or whether you want it to be sciencey or cracky. Whatever you’d like!_
> 
> I’m so sorry in advance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **rating: General Audiences**
> 
> **tw: tentacles--but not like that**
> 
> really, no trigger warnings apply (other than Derek being in-canon pushy?) but hey.

_There was a first time for everything_ , Stiles thought, his eyes widening in a mixture of apprehension and uncomfortable anticipation.

“You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Yeah, no, he wasn’t likely to trust the werewolf any time soon. Especially not when he… when he was suggesting  _that_.

“Did I mention that tentacles are sort of a hard limit for me?” Stiles said weakly, trying to be subtle about wiping the nervous sweat off of his hands. But Derek was already coming towards him, holding  _that_ , and oh God, this was his life now.

“J-Jesus, ok, just uh. G-go slow, alright?” Stiles whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel Derek’s weight depressing the mattress as he put a knee between Stiles’ thighs, the heat of him looming over Stiles’ body. “Please, please just..”

“Open your mouth,” Derek growled, and Stiles whimpered, shaking his head. But Derek caught his face in his iron grip and, with a whole-body shudder, Stiles opened up for him. The first drag of it across his lower lip made goosebumps break out over his skin and Stiles made a noise of protest. Because those were totally suction pads, they totally were, and—

“That’s right. Take it all.”

And then it was in Stiles’ mouth, filling it, and Stiles had to choke back a sound before he just opened his throat up and let it slither down…

“This is why I never get Greek take-out,” Scott said from the armchair in the corner, chewing happily on a piece of grilled octopus. “It just wigs him out too much.”

And Stiles would have said ‘fuck you’, but Derek was shoving more octopus in his maw and it was all he could do to bring himself to chew it this time around.


	17. failwolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The delightful [krakenface](http://krakenface.tumblr.com) requested pining with a side of Stiles’ moles. How could I not comply? Hope it’s ok! (It got a little long, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. xD Sorry.)

It wasn’t his fault, Derek told himself (as if that’d make it better). The fact was that Stiles was impossible to ignore. He was always taking up too much space, too much air: he was too leggy, he talked non-stop, he practically radiated good humor and he had enough tiny, chocolate-colored moles scattered over his skin to make anyone dizzy, especially since it seemed like every time a sleeve got pushed up or his shirt slid out of place, a new one was revealed.

It was, frankly, exhausting trying to keep up with him, and Derek finally gave up. It was like being the last levee below a pond; might as well bow out gracefully and admit defeat. He stopped acting like Stiles drove him to the point of rage. It was pointless. For all his (numerous) faults, Stiles was just good to have around. He was smart, he was upbeat, and he was a brilliant master of Google-fu (Stiles’ term, not his).

And when he actually got his limbs under control, exhausted past the point of movement, and curled up somewhere to do some more reading on whatever topic was relevant that given day, he was sort of… pleasant company.

Not that Derek would admit it. But he stopped shoving him into walls, he stopped growling at him, and he let him clamber over his belongings like he had a right to.

The kicker? Nobody noticed—least of all Stiles.

He still skirted around Derek with an unnecessarily wide berth, commented on “Sir Grumpalot” and “ _Grouchius maximus_ ” when he very well knew Derek was still within earshot.

So he had to take matters into his own hands.

**Plan A** : Stiles was supposed to bring him information on a possible herbal concoction that could offer half-decent protection against wolfsbane. But when Derek sent him a few (ok, more like 10) texts without getting a reply, he started to get worried. Beacon Hills was seeing more than its fair share of mystical nonsense; it wouldn’t hurt to check up on him.

He peeked through the window and found Stiles dead asleep, smelling faintly of exhaustion and sleeping pills when Derek cracked the window open. He still had his books and a crumpled pile of looseleaf scattered around him.

It was a good time to show his good will. Derek drove around the corner and came back with a bag of donuts, a big cup of coffee, and a bagel, just to cover all the bases. He eased the books and paper carefully out of the way (not that Stiles even stirred) and tugged the kid’s shoes off before tucking him under the covers.

The next day, he got an angry message from Scott telling him to “stop creeping on my friend. He thought Peter broke in and messed with him!”

Right, because his resurrected, psychotic uncle was really into tucking people in. Scratch that; if that  _was_  the case, Derek didn’t want to know.

**Plan B** : Finals were coming up and Stiles had a cold. He was holed up in the town library; Derek watched him briefly through the window, the way his head was propped heavily on his hand and his eyes red-rimmed. Since Stiles’ house was only a couple of blocks away, Derek let himself in. It didn’t take him long to return to the library with a travel mug of cocoa and a box of tissues, as well as a bottle of Day-Quil.

Stiles lifted his head blearily.

“Are you real?” Not a good sign.

“…I brought you stuff.” Derek set down the tissues and medicine, then pressed the mug into Stiles’ hands. Stiles cracked the lid open and inhaled, then froze.

“Wait, is this my dad’s travel mug?”

“Your house was around—”

“You broke into my house?”

“It’s not like it’s diffi—”

“My dad would have freaked out if he’d seen you there! What were you thinking, dude? You wanna give him a heart attack?”

This was not going according to plan. Derek cleared his throat.

“He’s not even due to be back from work—”

“Oh my god, you know my dad’s  _work schedule_.”

Derek decided there was no salvaging the situation, and quickly left. So much for that.

**Plan C** : When Stiles and Lydia were chased through the woods by a coven of particularly non-crunchy-Earth-momma witches, Stiles caught the sleeve of his hoodie on a branch. Luckily, that was the worst of the damage done by the witches, but Derek overheard him lamenting to Scott later.

“Dude, that was my  _favorite_  hoodie. They don’t even  _make_  these anymore.”

He waited until Stiles wasn’t looking and snagged the sweatshirt from the back seat of his Jeep. It was easy enough to patch back together; he didn’t have particularly brilliant sewing skills, but it didn’t look like Frankenstien’s coat, either. He waited until after school the next day, hovering by Stiles’ car in the parking lot.

“You’re not even supposed to be on school grounds,” Stiles warned him. Derek held out the sweatshirt. “…are you for real? I thought I lost this.  _You_  stole it?”

“I  _fixed_  it,” Derek corrected. “I didn’t wash it, though.”

“Oh, well, that makes it way less creepy that you were wandering around with my clothes for like a week.”

“A day.” Derek frowned. Stiles’ hands explored the mended sleeve.

“Seriously, what are you doing, Derek?”

His voice sounded soft, vulnerable.

“I’m just trying to help.”

Ah, shit. Stiles’ eyes were starting to look  _emotional_. And a little sad.

“You’re going to be late for lacrosse.” There, that was a good, rational excuse to get back in his car and not look back.

**Plan D** : Derek read online that if you liked someone, you were supposed to compliment them. That sounded like a viable option. He pulled out his phone and sent a text:

_You have a lot of moles_.

It took an hour to get a reply.

_It’s 4am what the HELL Derek what does that even mean. Yeah I have a lot of moles_.

Derek rubbed the back of his head.

_They’re nice_.

This time the reply was faster.

_I have an away game tomorrow. Why don’t you say whatever it is you wanted to say. Are moles the sign of evil? Did you read something about them being used in witchcraft? What?_

Oh. Right. It was Friday night and the team was supposed to be up early; he’d heard Isaac mentioning it. Derek winced.

_It’s nothing. Sorry._

**Plan E** : He was close to giving up. There was no point in trying when Stiles already pretty much hated him, or at least was convinced that the only thing Derek wanted to do was throw him in a lake and laugh while he drowned, or whatever it was that vengeful werewolves did for fun. Nothing he was doing seemed to have the right effect.

So it was serendipitous when Derek drove by on a rainy day and saw Stiles’ Jeep pulled off on the side of the road, the hood up, Stiles talking loudly (he had to presume) and gesturing wildly (that, he could see) on his cell phone while pacing around it.

He put the phone away as Derek pulled up, breaking into a grin that wasn’t even dampened by the rain. This was it. He had to be direct.

“Dude, I’m so happy that—”

“ _I. Don’t. Hate. You_.”

Stiles stopped, his expression confused. He wiped some of the rain off his face.

“Uh. Thanks? So um, that means you’ll give me a li—”

“I  _don’t hate you_. Do you understand that?” This was frustrating. Why didn’t Stiles get it? “You’re not as annoying as you think,” he added.

“Gee, thanks,” Stiles snorted, frowning. “So are you going to give me a lift or not? Since you don’t hate my guts or whatever.”

Derek leaned across the car, pushed open the passenger door. Stiles climbed inside, shoes squelching with water, and huddled in the seat. Derek turned on the heat and turned the vents towards him while the teen muttered about fan belts.

“Why are you trying to be nice?” Stiles asked, sort of defensively.

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re always an asshole.”

Derek must have looked crestfallen. Or angry. He felt angry. That was definitely the feeling that he was having.

“Sorry. But you sort of are.”

“Do you want a ride or not?”

Stiles rubbed his hands together, put them by the air vents.

“Do. Definitely do.”

Derek drove in silence, trying to ignore the  _confused-wet-miserable-curious_  smell permeating the car. And then Stiles started texting someone, and after a moment, his expression brightened.

“Oh my god, wait, are you… no, that’s ridiculous.” He sent another text, but his eyes kept darting over to Derek’s face. “So you don’t hate me…”

“I don’t hate you,” Derek repeated, relieved. Finally, Stiles understood.

“And you’re trying to be nice to me.”

Derek nodded.

“Do you have a crush on me? Because that’d be the most  _ridiculous_ —”

Derek hit the brakes hard; Stiles seat belt kept him from kissing windshield, but he still yelped as he was jerked forward.

“Get out.”

“Oh my god, you totally  _do_.” Clearly Stiles was way past the point of being phased by near-death experiences.

“Get  _out_ , Stiles.”

“No, it’s— oh my  _god_ , stop with the crazy eyes and the teeth thing, that is really  _not_  a good look on you. Well, actually, everything’s a good look on you, but just.. don’t lose the eyebrows or whatever, okay? So this is why you’ve been extra-creepery lately. The donuts and the cocoa and…” His eyes widened. “Oh, man. You seriously fail at this whole thing, don’t you.”

“If you’re just going to mock me, get out of my car.” Derek could feel his ears burning, but Stiles didn’t smell malicious. If anything, he looked.. what? Surprised? Giddy?

“I’m not trying to mock you, I’m trying to come to grips with this. It’s all sort of a lot to absorb. I didn’t think you, you know,  _liked_  people.”

“I’m starting to not like you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You really do suck at this.”

“Get out.”

“Pizza,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?”

“Pizza. You’re going to take me home, I’m going to get a change of clothes and make sure AAA actually tow my car, and then you’re going to take me out for pizza.”

Derek frowned. What did he have to lose? His dignity was already sort of vaporized.

“…Ok.”

“See?  _That’s_  how you ask someone out, doofus. It’s not that difficult.” And Stiles was grinning, and he was giving off  _warm-happy-content-surprised_  vibes, and Derek let his shoulders relax a little.

“Pizza,” Derek repeated. Stiles reached over and patted his shoulder, brief and a little awkward, though he’d clearly been aiming for casual.

“Pizza sounds  _great_.”


End file.
